Cracks in the Glass
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: It was almost like being trapped behind a window, he decided; he could watch, let his eyes feast upon her, but he could never get close enough. Beyond the frame, time passed without him Belle creating a life for herself and living it quite happily while he stood trapped, alone in his shop with his dusty antiques, old and cracked as any piece in his collection. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

So, I currently have far too much idle time on my hands, and these delightful little Rumbelle oneshots seem to be the end result. I'm still exploring their characters, so any critiques/reviews are much appreciated! As always, read, enjoy, and review!

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It was almost like being trapped behind a window, he decided, watching Belle amble down the road with Ruby, her eyes bright with laughter as the other woman emphasized some vivid point in her spirited conversation with wildly flailing hands. He could watch, let his eyes feast upon her, but he could never get close enough to fulfill that driving need for contact that his mind and body so craved.

Oh, they spoke, had carefully-constructed conversations filled with all the correct, "safe" topics and containing none of the concerns needing to be addressed. She had moved out and effectively closeted herself away from him, locking him out of her daily life as effectively as though she shad slammed a thick pane of glass between them. He felt as though any attempt to breach the barrier fell flat, striking glass and simply sliding limply to the floor, leaving him feeling even greater pangs of loneliness and lifelessness than before. Beyond the frame, time passed without him Belle creating a life for herself and living it quite happily while he stood trapped, alone in his shop with his dusty antiques, old and cracked as any piece in his collection.

The library was a step, a crack in the window through which the lightest breath of fresh air could pass, bringing with it a fleeting touch of all that was _Belle, _a soothing caress to his ailing soul. She was a balm, the only thing in any world other than Bae—Bae who was _lost_, gone—capable of making him feel _human, _of reminding him that there was something out there to live for.

And, for the briefest time, she had been there in her entirety, melting his icy exterior with her sunny spirit, sending cracks snaking along the carefully-constructed shell with which he encased himself. Then she was gone, driven away by his worthlessness, the monster slamming the barrier back down between man and maiden. Sometimes, if he pretended very hard, he was out there with her, the glass between them of no consequence and as restrictive as a misty haze.

In his fantasies, _he _was the one making her laugh, the one to cause her face to light up with that certain special smile that seared his spirit with the strength of its love. His phantom self could hold her, arms around her slender shoulders and tucking her head beneath his chin, offering all the security and comfort he had originally denied her. He could kiss her, lips sliding across hers in a gentle touch, undeterred by the glass barrier set solidly between them.

He grew too accustomed to this pathetic half-life, this paltry excuse for an existence in which Belle figured prominently yet was not there at all. They would speak, maybe graze fingers in the lightest of touches, and that was all. No more, no less.

He missed her terribly, yearned for her like an addict in the throes of withdrawal—but said nothing. To tell her of his wants, his _need_ would be unfair, for her gentle heart and compassion would drive her to ease his pain, regardless of her own wants and needs and comfort. As she had already made her wishes to remain distant from him expressly clear, he chose to step back, to lurk in the background cast half in shadow and all alone. All his thoughts, all his wants and needs and hopes an desires simply hit the glass and shattered, dissipating long before they could ever reach or affect Belle.

There came a day, though, when the window shattered, as quickly and effectively as though a chair had been cast against it.

"Rumplestiltskin." His bell jingled and the door slammed, announcing the arrival of someone to his shop. He looked up from his desk to glare at the interloper, and froze when his gaze connected with a pair of cerulean eyes burning with cool anger.

"Yes?" he asked, raising his brows and carefully schooling his voice into a tone of indifference.

"You've been avoiding me." She placed her hand son his desk, palms flat against the worn wood and effectively trapped him within the confines of her slight but powerful presence.

Scowling, he turned away from her accusatory glare. "It…is a possibility," he finally conceded. Honesty: no lies, only truth.

Pink lips pursed, the brows above drawing together in consternation. "Why?"

Startled, he jerked his head up, rearing back like a startled horse and turning his eyes to hers once more. "It's your life to live, love," he said, amazed she even had to ask, "not mine with which to toy or interfere."

Belle gave a shaky laugh and moved behind the desk to stand at his shoulder. "So all this, these weeks of separation, have been _you _taking my words too literally?" She shook her head and pulled him to his feet, dislodging him from his seat. "You, love, are an ass," she said, poking a finger into his chest and smiling that sweet smile that he had no right to receive. "A cowardly ass."

Dumbstruck, unable to follow this sudden upending of all he held as fact, Rumplestiltskin could only stand and stare, blinking mutely at this beautiful vision that had appeared before him in a whirlwind of righteous anger. She was supposed to hate him, to loathe the cowardly monster who had failed her in more ways than he could even count. He had set her free, released her from any obligation she may have believed she owed him. Belle was an independent woman, liberated and laying the groundwork for _her _life.

One look from her at that movement left him reeling, piercing him as painfully as an arrow and letting him know in a single instant that she could see straight through his little act and wasn't fooled for a moment. She leaned in and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, carding her fingers through the silky strands and smoothing them away. "I like the little flash of grey at your temples," she remarked softly, her fingers dancing there next and remaining to trace a pattern across his forehead and cheeks. "Your human face suits you."

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to indulge in the feeling of her hands on his face, the pads of her fingers running up and down his cheeks and creeping across to periodically brush across his closed and fluttering eyelids. Half convinced this was all a dream, he stood stock still and let the sensations wash over him, a feeling over calm washing over him and submerging him beneath its roaring waves. Wetting his lips, he finally forced himself to step back, wrenching himself away from temptation, away from the impossible but enticing reality that would have her in his arms and wanting to be there.

"There is a _monster _behind the man, Belle," he reminded her, the rush of memories surging forward with this affirmation serving as an agonizing reinforcement of every ill deed in his past.

"A monster I fell in love with," she chastised, frowning at him as she took a step forward and claimed his hands with her own. "I love _you, _Rumplestiltskin—monster _and _man." Contracting her hands around his she gave a gentle squeeze. "What do I have to do to make you accept that? I want you—all of you. Past, present, _and _future."

For a moment she feared she had said too much and her heart contracted painfully in her chest, fluttering against her rib cage as she tried to read the emotions dancing across his casually-stoic face.

Love? A future? Rumplestiltskin was lost. "You aren't supposed to love me." He tried to articulate some of the loudest of the thoughts clamoring to escape him. "I'm evil, wicked—the Dark One, dearie, remember?" Monsters don't merit happy endings." His expression as he said this was resigned, the worn down, wrung-out look of a man who has sustained himself on self-loathing and depreciation for so long that he knows little else. Day in and day out, it was always the same: Belle was life and love personified, youth and beauty and compassion with a lifetime of opportunity spread out before her. He was tainted, marred by years of ill deeds and manipulative deals and regret, a toxin just waiting to ooze into her purity and infect it with his vileness.

Beauty should not love the Beast—she should loathe it. The Dark One should not love, only loathe.

He knew from experience his curse tainted any love, drove away those who professed to care. Any other person would have seen this in his face and agreed, or would have been able to see it all. He was an enigma to most, keeping his emotions carefully masked behind countless wall so cruelty, autonomy, and intelligence.

Belle, though…Belle could see straight through him in any circumstance.

He _did _love her. He _was _a coward. He _could _feel.

The touch of two slender arms snaking around his waist snapped him out of his reverie and he jumped, eyes flying open and face turning down into a mass of chestnut curls.

Smiling, Belle hummed contentedly and pressed her nose into his neck. "Well, _I _love you," she avowed, as though that was that and anyone who dare to think otherwise could just go jump down the well. Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke, tickling his sensitive skin and sending a raging fire dancing through his veins. "I have loved you since I first knew you, truly knew you, and I will keep on loving you whether you want me to or not."

"Belle, I—" he tried to speak, to let out the protests and denials that were piling up one atop the other within his mind, yet another barrier erecting itself between him and acceptance—him an Belle.

"No." She shook her head and pressed a finger to his lips, looking earnestly into his eyes. "No arguments. I love you, and you love me, and for now, that is enough."

Even though every part of him screamed out that no, it wasn't, that he was undeserving of such understanding, Rumplestiltskin allowed the protests to die in his throat and lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was a kiss that promised love beyond anything she could ever desire, a kiss of passion and devotion. It eased any doubts that stood between them, that gently brush of skin on skin the most genuine offering of honesty he could present.

With that kiss, Rumplestiltskin offered his soul to Belle, presented it on a silver platter for evaluation. He bared himself to her, put forth every deed—good and bad—before her as proof of his love. Anything and everything that he had left unarticulated in the past went into that kiss, was conveyed as he caressed her mouth with his lips and tongue, pulling her tightly against him and devouring her mouth with his own.

The words to be honest may not always be there, but the actions were, and with them he promised the truth—the entire truth. They may not be perfect, he and his beauty, but they were in love—true love. For the moment, and for every moment to come, that would be more than enough.


End file.
